Rejected
by Sulime
Summary: Evelyn has been running for four years from everyone, living in a truck and looking for somewhere that would take her in. Where can a tattoo-addicted, whiskey-swilling mutant be accepted.
1. Rituals

A/N: This story is set after the first movie and before the second. I don't own X-men and I am definitely not getting any richer by this. That's it.

* * *

Colorado, 4 A.M.

"Get out of this town and don't ever come back," he said to her. It was strange to him, thinking that the girl had been one of _them_ all along and he hadn't even known it. Then the stories had started floating around, about weird things that people saw or heard about her. News about weird things travels fast in a small town, and there was no denying that the girl had something weird about her. She didn't seem afraid of the man in front of her at all, all he could see in her eyes was resigned acceptance. There was another hitch, though. She wasn't leaving.

"I said, get out of my bar and don't show your face here again, missy." Still no movement. Sweat started to bead up on his forehead and stain his wifebeater. If she was anything near as dangerous as the news said her kind was, he was in trouble. He considered his situation. After hours, he was alone in the bar except for his gun, and that was behind the counter. He flicked his eyes nervously towards where it was.

She noticed and smiled slightly, still staring directly at him with calculating gray eyes. His palms started sweating. _What kind of powers does she have?_ he wondered.

"I mean it, freak!" he said loudly, his voice breaking. The girl snorted with laughter and walked toward the door. He almost breathed a sigh of relief, but his breath caught again when she stopped next to his sign. She pulled the plug and flipped it into her hand. She stared at him again as her fingers touched the metal and the sign lit up again. The neon light gave her face a less-than-human look, reflecting off her piercings in an impressive way.

"I'm not going to apologize for being born different. I can't help being a mutant any more than you can fix your natural assets being..." she paused for a meaningful look downwards, "somewhat lacking. Come on, Bob. No secrets here. I have control over electric currents and charges, you have a tiny wang. We've all got our crosses to bear in life, eh?" She laughed and dropped the plug. Bob watched her leave nervously. Once she was out in the parking lot, he opened the dingy curtains and watched her walk to her truck. She leaned against it for a second, lighting a cigarette. She got in and turned up her music loud enough to hurt Bob's old barkeep ears and started to tap a beat on the wheel. She added a move every few seconds and revved the ancient diesel engine in time to the beat until she peeled out of the parking lot, yelling something along the lines of "Fuck this town!"

"Damned freak," he muttered and sat down wearily.

* * *

The freak that Bob the ill-equipped barkeep had so easily rejected was named Evelyn Morrison, though the tiny mountain town knew her as Monica Sutton. She'd been to and been chased from plenty of towns just like this one, and had learned that there were times when a girl just didn't use her real name. She stopped for supplies at the general store, which was old fashioned enough to have an aged gas pump out front and a tiny grocery store too. Evelyn loved these. They were one-stop shopping for the road-tripping mutant on the run. For the first two years of her post-college life, she had the silly notion that she was an aimless drifter, but she had since figured out that as long as she had to lie about who she was and what she could do, she was on the run. The times when she got a job in a town and stayed for more than a day were just brief rest periods until the next sprint.

To make herself enjoy the mad sprint a little more, she had developed a ritual which she had already begun. The car dancing and supply run were the first two, and Evelyn came out of the store with her usual provisions; frozen pizza, whiskey, cigarettes, and a new pack of water. She set her stuff down on the driver's seat and flipped up the passenger's seat. She pulled out the tin foil and wrapped the pizza carefully. She stowed the whiskey for later and threw the water in the trunk. She thanked whoever was listening that most of it was on sale and the smokes were free. _Then again,_ she mused, _that might just be that the clerk has a secret thing for tattoos._ She felt bad that he had to hear all about it tomorrow, though.

Either way, Evelyn had enough money for the last part of the rejection sprint, but she had to complete the next two steps first. The third was easy enough. Making a noisy exit was one of her sole sources of joy. She wasn't lying to anyone and she got to burn rubber the whole way out of town. Preferably to earsplittingly loud rock music. This night, she succeeded in grand style with Appetite For Destruction. Some of the elderly residents even shook their fists. Step three was complete. Step four was simple, too, though it was harder than usual to find a used-car lot with an open space where Evelyn could lay low and pretend that her truck belonged there. By the time she found one, it was 5:30 in the morning and she had had to drive to a larger town. She was too jacked up on the excitement of leaving to sleep. _That's where my friend Jack Daniel's here comes in._ She opened bottle and took a swig, sighing as her nostrils burned and her mind blurred. She managed to get a few pieces of pizza down and had a few more drinks until she was fast asleep in the used-car lot.

* * *

Evelyn woke the next morning with a cold face and a cold half-pizza. She rubbed her eyes and waited for her head to clear before she tucked the bottle underneath the passenger seat again. She looked around and saw that the lot wasn't open yet. That was a relief. One thing that Evelyn knew was that no one loves a squatter except other squatters. Especially a hung-over one with an open bottle. She sat in the car for a second, pondering who came up with a word like 'squatter' until she remembered that she had one step left in the sprint. This one was to change her appearance somehow. Depending on her mood, this could mean a new pair of Wranglers or a new piercing. Another variable was her available funds. This time, Evelyn had something big in mind. Another ink reminder that nothing is as good as it seems sounded like a good idea. Evelyn started the car and looked at her tattoos on her ankle and arm. Both were there to remind her not to trust anyone, but she couldn't help getting her hopes up about every town she drove into. She already had a good idea of what she needed to stop being so trusting, all she needed now was some hair dye and a good tattoo parlor.

* * *


	2. A New Tattoo

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I've never gotten that kind of response. Because you're all so lovely, I'll blow off some math review and type this up for you all. Sorry about the slightly misspelled Greek, the computer doesn't support some of the characters I need there.

* * *

Evelyn walked into a tattoo parlor with very different hair than her usual nondescript brown. She had made enough money to afford more than one color, and had dyed it light caramel brown with black ends. She had no sooner come through the door than she was set upon by five hairy puppies.

"God, I'm so sorry," said a sleepy voice. "They're getting too big to handle all at once." Evelyn petted the one that had gotten a hold of her hand and was trying to get her to play until the puppies' apparent owner herded them back into a side room.

"So, what can I do ya for?" he asked. Evelyn looked at him. _Geez, he's cute enough for two of the puppies_, she thought. She was very pleased that the guy who was going to be putting more ink in her back was at least attractive. He really did have the puppy-look, with big eyes and fluffy hair. _At least he isn't inspecting his ass, as puppies will do_, thought Evelyn.

"One tattoo. Just writing, pretty straightforward." She handed him a sheet of paper where she had sketched out exactly what she wanted. It was a verse from Oedipus Rex, to remind her that she wasn't sure that she was done running until she was dead. It fit, though she hadn't had any problems with murder and incest in her life. Or Sphinxes, for that matter. The owner read the paper and looked at it confusedly. 

"What's it say?" he asked.

"'_Episkopounta meden olbizein, prin an terma tou biou perasei meden algeinon pathon._' Count no mortal happy until he has passed the limit of his life free from pain."

"Sophocles?" he asked.

"Yeah..." Evelyn smiled. "How'd you know? No offense, but you don't seem like much for Greek tradgedy." He smiled and shrugged.

"Us kids, we know about more than loud music and baggy clothes then people give us credit for. Anyway, where do you want this?" He beckoned for her to follow him into the sterile back room.

"Lower back. So, what's your name?"

* * *

"So, why did you get a tattoo with me here today, Evelyn Morrison?" he asked after he was done. 

"Well, James Davis, it is a reminder to never get my hopes up about anyone I meet so I'm never dissappointed. All my tattoos are reminders of things I should remember or have learned. Some of the piercings I did myself because I didn't have the money to get it done professionally, but I try to change something every time I get chased out of a town. As you can see, I have been drummed out of quite a few places." She pointed to her three piercings in each ear and the lip piercing, then realised too late that he was bound to ask why she was being kicked out of whole cities.

Normally, she would either smirk or say something like 'I burned down the church and seduced the priest,' but she was just tired of lying. She waited for the question, but a less akward one came first.

"That's cool, you've got a whole ritual down. What's the rest?" he asked raptly.

"I call it the five-step program. I do some car-dancing, fill up the car and get food, leave town loudly, get drunk and go to sleep, wake up and for example, get a tattoo. I've had this tattoo planned since the rumours started in the old town about me."

"Rumours of what? What can you do that's that bad?" he asked thoughtfully. Evelyn sighed. Honesty time was not something she was sure that everyone was ready for.

"Well, hon, it's not so much what I do as much as what I am that brasses people off." she said.

"And that is?" he prompted, then his face lit up. "Ooh, are you a pirate queen?" Evelyn laughed in spite of herself. 

"Nothing so glamorous, I'm afraid. I'm a mutant." She braced herself for any fear and hate, and was surprised by his simple answer.

"Oh. So, do you have any cool powers?" Evelyn blinked. Was he hiding his hostility? She searched his face for any obvious inclination to call the cops, but he seemed the same. She supposed that the post-college snowboarder types were less preachy and bigoted than the crowd she was usually around.

"Um, basically, I have control over electric currents. I can start charges moving. It works if I'm touching something conductive, but I can do this too." She pointed toward the silent radio and concentrated. It switched on to static.

"That's so cool," said James, amazed. "You don't seem dangerous at all."

"Not so much. If I touched you, I could shock you to death. No weapons, no fuss. Thing is, I wouldn't."

"Okay, that's kinda freaky," said James. "But I think I've got a good idea of what you're like, and you don't seem like you would."

"Of course I wouldn't. If I did, would I spend so much of my goddamn time running away from everyone? All I really use my power for is jumping my car." Evelyn ran a hand through her hair and smiled at him. An idea was forming in her head that would involve not sleeping in a motel or her truck, and that was always a plus.

"Well, I should be moving on. Can't stop running now," she said in her best weary-drifter voice. She pulled her jacket off the back of the chair and walked slowly towards the door, leaning down to scratch a sleeping puppy's belly. Any time now, she would get her invitation. _Wait for it, wait for it,_ she told herself.

"Hey, Evelyn, wait!" shouted James. She smiled to herself and turned around to face him. He was bumbling out of his seat. "You need to stay for the night."

Evelyn could see the wheels turn in his head, thinking _That was **so** akward, how to fix it?_

"I mean, uh, you can't just stay in your truck all the time. I have an extra room, you don't need to run right now. I won't tell anyone, I promise, and..." he looked at her pleadingly, obviously wondering what to say next. Evelyn decided to throw him a bone.

"Okay,"she said, "and thanks a lot."

* * *

The next morning, Evelyn woke up early to pay a visit to the kitchenette down the hall and look around for pancake ingredients. She wasn't adverse to accepting charity, but she had to find some way to repay him. She didn't sleep with him, after all, though she wouldn't have complained if he'd asked. However, James seemed every bit the gentleman and hadn't asked for a thing.

_So pancakes it is!_ thought Evelyn, wrenching a frying pan out of a cabinet. She managed to scrape together enough basic ingredients to make a decent batter and fished some maple syrup out of the fridge. She set the pan on the stove to heat up and crept up to James' room. She tiptoed inside and slapped his face lightly.

"Wha?" he asked, burying his face in his pillow.

"Pancakes! Wake up, you crazy boy, before I eat them all." James, who had lived on instant oatmeal and popcorn for months, leapt out of bed and followed Evelyn to the kitchen and sat down eagerly to eat. Before long, a plate was set in front of him. He dug in, pondering just how lucky he was to have had a woman who was smart _**and**_ could cook delivered to his doorstep.

"So," he said mid-munch. "You leaving today?"

"Yeah," replied Evelyn. "But it was nice of you to let me stay without demanding sex or whatever." James shrugged affably.

"Sex, good pancakes, same difference. Where d'you wanna go?" Evelyn looked thoughtful for a second.

"Not sure. Maybe I could try my luck in Canada. Alberta isn't too far." She took their plates to the sink and started washing.

"Well, before you go, take my number and call if you ever need a place to crash and hide."

"Thanks." Evelyn smiled and pulled her pants on over a pair of boxers she had borrowed.

"You can keep those," said James. "And take one of the puppies to watch out for you." Evelyn smiled and touched his cheek.

"You don't need to do this. I can electrocute anyone who touches me." James looked nervous for a second, then grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.

"You don't need to run anymore. I'd take care of you. But if you do leave here, back out where people will hate you, then at least take a goddamn dog," he said quietly.

"Okay," she answered. They went back to the room with the puppies and watched them sleeping and playing. James held Evelyn around the waist, and she didn't move to push him away. A few years ago, she would have freaked out if he had gotten that grabby that fast, but she knew that he was probably the only guy she would meet for a long time that would touch her if he knew her secret.

Evelyn fully intended to keep a guy like that, and it didn't hurt that he had gorgeous eyes and she could get tattoos for cheap. It was a win-win situation for her, which was why she didn't understand why she was leaving again.

_Maybe I'm just looking for more like me, so I know I'm not always alone before I stop running so fast._

"I'll take that one," she said, pointing at the one who had first leaped on her when she arrived. "And I'll come back." She turned to face James and hesitated. What was the proper decorum with a guy who she'd known less than a day and already had loads of mushy feelings for?

_Fuck it,_ she thought, and went in for the kiss, putting her hands around his neck. He responded, smiling and kissing her back. James would remember this for a long time; there was an electric buzz to it that he was never really sure were her powers or was just there. He stood in the front of his tattoo parlor, dazed and shirtless, long after Evelyn and the puppy were gone.

* * *


	3. The Address

A/N: Thanks for the seven reviews, everyone! This chapter actually has movie characters in it! *shocked gasp* The response to the corny pickup line is actually one that my friend Jessica improvised when someone used it on her. She gets hair comments all the time (it's in perfect curls, black with green fading into purple), so she's damn good at that kind of thing. No offense intended to any Jehovah's Witnesses or what have you. Still don't own X-men. Thanks in advance for reviewing, hint hint.

* * *

_James-_

I've been in lovely Milk River, Alberta for about two months now. Not bad, huh? I've even bothered renting a place. I got a job at the mechanic's here, and am doing quite well, thanks to my natural talent at recharging batteries. You wouldn't believe how much money you can scam off someone if they don't ask the right questions. I'm so telling you the details when I see you again. With the money you save, you could get a waffle iron or something! Since I am chugging along great here, I can send you some good old Canadian maple syrup. If you can figure out how a frying pan works, you can have it with your pancakes. Or you can just drink it. Whatever floats your boat. The puppy has gotten huge. I named him Duncan, like from the Scottish play. Every time I look at him, I think of you...then I think of you shirtless. I almost took out an ice cream truck last time that image popped into my head on the road.

Thinking of you, but not while driving,

Evelyn

* * *

Evelyn sat at the bar, staring at her fish sticks and thinking of James. She was just getting to the part that she didn't allow herself to think about while driving when a cocky voice intruded into her happy place.

"Hey bartend, one beer for me, and one for the lady." The guy at the bar tipped his hat at Evelyn. She groaned to herself. She recognized him. The pushy cowboy had been at the shop earlier and had hung around a lot longer than it took to fix his car. One of the guys had finally shooed him away, but he wasn't here right now. The bartender was eternally neutral, so Evelyn was on her own for this one. He walked over with the beers and smiled at her, but Evelyn was ready for him.

"Listen, is there a problem with your car?" she asked irritably.

"No ma'am. Runs good as new," he replied.

"Then why are you still talking to me?"

"Aw, honey, don't talk like that. You're pretty enough for me to talk to you anyway." Evelyn just stared at him. She couldn't believe anyone could be stupid enough to not understand that she wanted to be left alone. He coughed and tried again.

"With a mane like that, you must be a Leo. Am I right, sweetheart?" He grabbed one of her fishsticks and started munching. Evelyn was too annoyed to even laugh at how ridiculous this was.

"With a pickup line like that, you must have a tiny dick," she countered. The bartender laughed quietly, and the cowboy's smile faded.

"I was just tryin' to be nice, but you done pissed me off now!" he snapped.

"Save it." Evelyn tried to get up, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Where you going, doll-face?" He leered unpleasantly, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. Evelyn's world narrowed down to concentrate on his hand on her wrist and what he said next.

"I know what you are, honey. I saw you, charging up a battery with your bare paws."

"Done yet? Because you can feel free to shut up and let go of me any time now." She tried to leave again, but he held on.

"You ain't gettin' away, you mutant bitch!" he yelled. Everyone that had been just casually listening in turned their eyes on Evelyn.

_Shit, not so soon,_ she thought. _Well, only one thing for this asshole, now that everyone knows._ She concentrated on charging her arm until he jumped away screaming in a rather un-manly way. Evelyn glared quickly around the bar, challenging anyone to say anything. She didn't notice that a stocky, dark-haired man with sideburns had left the bar. She walked out without a word.

* * *

Evelyn sat slumped over the wheel in her truck, where Duncan was sleeping on the passenger seat.

"C'mere Dunk," she said softly, eyes tearing up. The puppy yawned and crawled over the manual shift into Evelyn's arms. "I wish you were here, James," she whispered.

"God, why does something always fuck up?" she asked no one in particular. She was very surprised that someone answered.

"Good question. Maybe things are fucked up because next to no one will take people like us in." It was the dark-haired man from the bar.

"What do you want? And what do you mean, us?"

"I mean," he said, "that I know what it's like to get kicked out of bars, though I've been at it longer than you."

"Listen, do you have a point? Because I'm not in the mood for any more games, so get to it. I have a ritual to attend to."

The man smirked. "You think running again is the answer, don't you? What are you looking for?"

"You had my attention for a while, but then you just started sounding too Jehovah's Witness-like for my taste." She grabbed her keys and put them in the ignition.

"Look, just shut up and listen. I know somewhere where you can go where you won't have to lie about what you are." Evelyn let go of her keys.

"I'm listening. Go on, get in." Evelyn put Duncan in the back seat and opened the passenger door. He got in and smiled lopsidedly at her.

"What do you want to know?" he asked. Evelyn started the truck.

"Start with two things. What's your name and what do you want for tunes?" she tossed him the overstuffed CD case.

"Logan. Put in this one." He handed her Led Zeppelin. She put it in and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Very well. Now, where is this supposedly accepting place?"

"New York."

"That's a trek. You on your way there?" she asked. Logan shook his head and lit a cigar.

"No, I'm staying up North. But here's the address." He found a marker and a napkin and scrawled down an address.

"Well, thanks for your help Logan. Good to have met another mutant along the way. Where can I set ya down?"

"Tobacco store, I'm running short," he said, taking his cigar out of his mouth and inspecting it.

"Me too. Thanks again. If I go to New York now, will you be there?"

"Maybe. Can you get there on your own funds?" he asked. Evelyn perked her ears up. Money was always an issue, and if Logan was giving handouts, she wouldn't say no.

"Probably not. I blew it all actually getting a room here. Thought it might work for a while, y'know?" Even the feral-looking guy couldn't resist the broke wanderer charms, and she knew it. Evelyn parked at the tobacco store and walked toward the door. Logan got a few cigars, and stayed Evelyn's hand when she reached for her wallet to pay.

"I got it."

_Result,_ thought Evelyn. _Now if I can just bring up the costs of a trip to New York..._

She didn't have to. Once outside, Logan pulled some crumpled bills out of his pocket.

"Take this," he said gruffly. "Just get to Westchester. Xavier'll help you out." Evelyn whistled.

"How'd you get rich?" she asked, amazed at the sizable wad in her hand.

"Wrestling."

"Please tell me it was the kind with the shiny masks and the trash talk in Spanish," she laughed.

"Nah, cage. I always won. That's what clued them in." He looked at his hands and unwrapped a new cigar. Without warning, a metal claw sprang from in between his knuckles and he sliced the tip of the cigar off neatly.

"Holy fuck," said Evelyn, grabbing a cigarette of her own and lighting it nervously, then handing the lighter to Logan. Logan smirked and walked away, cigar still between his teeth. Evelyn watched him for a while, then sat in the truck, smoking and counting the money he had given her.

"Christ," she muttered. "He has that much to carry around?" Evelyn put the money underneath the passenger's seat and hesitated. The meeting with Logan had thrown off her ritual, and she wasn't sure what to do next. She wasn't hungry, as she was too fascinated with the claws and the idea of a place for mutants. And she didn't need to get drunk tonight. But one thing was staying constant; she was definitely going to splurge on a new jacket.

* * *

_James-_

Jackpot! I met a nice scruffy guy who paid me to go to New York and bear his children! I'm kidding, by the way, no pun intended. Not about the money part. He just stuffs a wad in my hand and walks off into the sunset or whatever and leaves me with an address on a napkin for a place where people like me can go. I'm going to check it out, since Milk River no longer welcomes me. I wish you would have been there, you could have told the idiot who wouldn't leave me alone to fuck off then and there. But no, you're still all the way in Colorado. The bastard ate my fish sticks and called me doll-face. I'll stay in touch and send you the address if I get settled in New York. Still thinking of you shirtless often.

Love,

Evelyn.


	4. The Mansion

A/N: Thanks to all reviewers! This chapter: We finally see the mansion. And meet the Professor. By request from Paige Guthrie, we get to glimpse Evelyn's sweeter side. Excited? Damn right you are.

* * *

_Logan glanced around the barren ruins of the Alkali Lake Industrial Complex. Nothing left that he could see. Figures, he thought, annoyed._

* * *

The sign in front of her read 'Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters.' The building was a huge, sprawling mansion. Evelyn was impressed. But that didn't mean that she was going to just walk on in with no worries. She was going on from a guy with huge claws and sideburns straight out of the Civil War. Just because Logan had been nice doesn't mean that this was going to pan out the right way.

Still, the allure of a mansion where she could not have to lie about what she was was too intriguing. Evelyn built up her courage and walked up to the gate.

_It can't hurt to try, only to fail,_ she thought. The gate creaked open, as if in response to her thoughts. _Whoa, creepy haunted house cliches ahoy._ She walked through anyway, up the path to the door. There was an imposing brass knocker, in the shape of an 'X'.

She held her breath and knocked. For a few seconds, no one answered. Evelyn was ready to bolt and drive away, but she was stopped by the door opening.

"Can I help you?" asked a man with neat hair and red sunglasses. Evelyn felt very deer-in-headlights-like.

"Um, yeah. Some guy named Logan told me to go here. Do ya know him? Dark-hair, cigar habit, gigantic metal claws?" The guy looked even stiffer than he already did.

"Yes, I know Logan. What did he send you here for?"

"He said you folks take in people. People like me. Y'know, mutants?" That got a different reaction from him. He practically dragged her inside, leading her down the main hallway.

"Sorry to drag you around, but it's a tense time around here. I'm Scott Summers."

"Evelyn Morrison. So, where are we going now?" she asked, slowing down her pace.

"To see the Professor."

"Oooh, like Gilligan?" asked Evelyn excitedly. "Can he build a radio with a coconut and some hairpins?" Scott looked at her like she had three neon antennae and kept walking. He stopped at a door and opened it for her. The man inside the room didn't look like much of a pro-mutant activist to Evelyn. Then again, she had never seen one in her life, so she wouldn't know what they would look like.

_James may not hate mutants,_ she mused_, but if he's an activist, I'm the pope._

The bald man turned to face her and smiled pleasantly.

"Ah, Evelyn. I'm glad you made it here. Milk River is a long way from here." Evelyn blinked disbelievingly. Unless Logan had called him, there was no way of knowing where she had come from or her name. "No, Logan has not contacted us. I am a telepath."

_Holy crap. Guess I'll have to watch what I'm thinking,_ she thought.

"This is my school," he continued. "Here, we take in young mutants and teach them how to control their powers. We also provide education. Now, you have been through college, but your powers are underdeveloped."

"They've worked fine so far," said Evelyn defensively. The Professor smiled and nodded.

"Of course they have. Nonetheless, there are a lot of things you can learn if you want to stay. Scott can show you a room. You are welcome to all the facilities with a few exceptions."

"What do I do in return? This all sounds pretty sweet, but I draw the line at bikini-clad lumberjack, just so you know." Xavier looked amused. Scott looked at her oddly again. Evelyn coughed.

"So, where are my new digs, Scotty?" she asked as they were walking out of the door.

"Don't call me that," he said as he opened the door. Evelyn gave up all thoughts of teasing Scott when she saw her room. Duncan bounded up and ran inside in front of her. She followed in, a huge, childish smile growing on her face.

"Oh my God, this is...incredible. This has made my year!" She turned toward Scott and gave him a huge smile. He smiled politely back. Looking around her room, she couldn't help but squeal happily. Scott left and closed the door behind him. Evely looked around, then sprinted to the bed and leaped onto it.

"C'mere, Dunk!" she called, and the dog trotted toward her from sniffing the dresser intently. "Jump up here, sweetie!" Duncan jumped up onto the bed and barked with puzzlement when Evelyn started jumping up and down. Evelyn started laughing ecstatically and flopped down on the bed. Duncan wobbled over and licked her face.

"Duncan, this is awesome. We might never have to run again." Evelyn inhaled deeply, then realised that something smelled odd.

"Christ on a bike, is that me?" she wondered aloud. Duncan looked at her as if to say 'I don't care, mom.' 

"I need a shower." She grumbled and rolled off the bed. She stopped on the way to her bathroom to open the door for Duncan, who promptly vaulted out onto the grass, snuffling excitedly. Evelyn entered her bathroom and squealed again. She had been expecting a nice loo, but marble counters were more than she could have dreamed of.

She started the water running. This was the cleanest shower she'd seen in a long time. Half the time she wore her sunglasses into the shower so she couldn't see any mold. Evelyn had a feeling that her sunglasses were going to get dirtier if she could stay here long enough, and that was a comforting thought. She could clean up, get some clothes, stock up on jerky, get some postcards...

_Dear James-_

Landed on my feet, finally. This address turned out to be just awesome. I am now living in a mansion, where the bathrooms have two-ply T.P. and everything. It's incredible. The honcho is a mind reader though, so I have to cut down on the perverted thoughts. Which is hard sometimes, since I'm writing to you. And then come the shirtless thoughts. This place is perfect except for one thing. You're not here. As cheesy as that sounds, it's true. I've kinda got a jones for a cartilage piercing too, so I'll see if I can get back to you sometime.

Love,

Evelyn.


	5. Rabbit Food

A/N: Sorry about the misattributing of the sweeter side request, Adi. Summer's here for me, so I have even more time on my hands than usual. That means more or less updates, depends on what happens. But here's chapter five. Still excited?

* * *

Evelyn hit the secondhand stores first. It took a little looking, but she found what she needed. She smiled at the lady behind the counter and ducked behind the fitting room curtain. Her old pair of jeans had served her well, but there were only so many crotch holes one could patch up without looking a little odd.

She pulled the newer jeans on and surveyed herself in the mirror. Not bad, she thought. Not half bad. She walked out again until something caught her eye. The sleeve of a shirt was hanging out of a bin. Evelyn pulled it out. It was a vacation shirt advertising Colorado.

_Perfect,_ she thought, and added it to her purchases. The shopkeeper looked rather oddly at her forearm as she was ringing up the sale. Evelyn followed her gaze to the tattoo on it. She met the lady's eyes again and gave her a 'what's your problem' look while she took her change. She wasn't exactly crazy about her first taste of East Coast attitude, but no matter. There was a good reason she had a tattoo there. She was proud of it. It wasn't very fancy, not like the design on her lower back. One single word in an ancient alphabet, meaning 'bearer of good news.' She got it to remind her that the only good news she should trust completely is the kind that she gave herself.

Her new shirt showed it off perfectly. She smiled at the lady again and walked back to her truck. Next stop was the supermarket, for postcards and jerky. She looked down at her arm and flexed her fingers, watching the painted skin move. The memory of why she got the tattoo wasn't nearly so pretty. She shuddered instinctively for a second, then stuffed the memory in the back of her mind again. No time for old crap to fill her head.

She started up the truck to find the nearest supermarket.

* * *

John Allerdyce sat on the lawn in front of school, idly flicking his lighter open and closed. He was bored out of his skull. Rogue and Bobby were off making eyes at each other and not doing anything about it. He could smell the frustrated teenage angst from here, and he didn't really want to intrude. But he didn't want to just sit here. He had that feeling that he should be doing something, _anything,_ but just couldn't be bothered.

He sighed and flipped over onto his stomach and watched the cars go by. He wondered why everyone seemed to be going out of their way to be normal. John scowled at the thought and imagined the cars catching fire and exploding.

_Someday,_ he thought, _I will show everyone that being a mutant is something to be proud of._ John started to smile, getting lost in pseudo-Machiavellian daydreams involving wealth, power, and riches that were only broken off by the rumbling of a diesel engine that had seen better days. What really made him sit up was the fact that the truck in question stopped in front of the school.

Not many cars that came through stopped in front of Xavier's school, and even less pickups. He clicked his lighter open and waited for the driver to get out. He clicked the lighter closed again when he saw the woman that exited. She went straight up in John's mind from 'suspicious stranger' to 'girl of my dreams.' The gate opened for her, so he supposed that she was welcome.

Besides, he would put aside his stranger-paranoia in favor of hormones in this situation. The first thing that caught his eye was the hair. Then the tattoo etched on her arm. Then her piercings. Then he started looking at her lip piercing, all sorts of hormonally-charged thoughts dancing in his head. Then he realized that she was walking up to him and he should probably talk or something.

"Yeah?" he said, managing to sound much less interested than he was. He also managed not to drool, much to his credit.

"Yeah yourself. You go to school here, right?" John nodded. "Peachy, can you help me out with something?"

"What d'you need?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt the sitting marathon, but can you do me the favor of carrying my bag here?" John got up and brushed himself off.

"Yeah, fine." Evelyn smiled and handed one of her bags to him.

"Thanks. What's your name?" She pulled out a cigarette went to light it, but John got there first.

"John. John Allerdyce." He flicked his lighter shut and flashed her a lopsided smile.

"Quite the gentleman, aren't we? My name's Evelyn Morrison. My room's on the first floor, c'mon." _Her room?_ wondered John. _How long is she staying here?_ He dutifully put the bag of groceries down in her room and sneaked a peek inside.

_Beef jerky and Guinness? Where has she been all my life?_

"Are you staying here long?" he asked.

"As long as I like, apparently. D'you know where there's some eats around here?" John exulted inwardly. He could help her out there.

"I'm hungry too. This way." He led her down the hall, flicking his lighter open and shut, open and shut, until they reached a room with seriously high-class appliances. Evelyn whistled softly and opened the refrigerator.

"What is all this?" asked Evelyn. She picked up a stick of celery and sneered. "Do they think you're mutants or rabbits?" Almost on cue, John's stomach rumbled.

"Dunno, Dr. Grey and Storm do all the food shopping," he said.

"Oh great, a doctor buys your food. You may look fine now, but you'll waste away soon enough if we don't get you some real food real fast. I've had a hankering for some chili for a week or so now. How does tomorrow sound for an outing to town?" John smiled and grabbed a non-fat yogurt from the fridge.

"It's a date." Storm's choice of food didn't appeal to John at all; he was a big eater with a quick metabolism. Extra bonus, he got to spend some quality time with Evelyn. Alone. In her truck. It looked like he would have something to do with his time after all.

* * *


	6. Talk Dirty To Me

A/N: Props to Adi for catching the subtle Monty Python reference. There's another tiny one here. I saw the movie again yesterday, and I'm getting a better idea of how she's going to fit into all this. My brother is home from college, so I have a pretty reliable source for exact dialogue and comic canon. In retrospect, yes, maybe the language is a little strong for PG-13 by the exact rating system, but what 13 year old doesn't swear every now and then? Even though they tend to giggle in my experience while they're at it. Oh well.

* * *

Dear James, 

You wouldn't believe what is in the refridgerator around here. Unless they have some kid here that can change into any herbivorous rodent at will, it's useless. The only meat they have is fish and chicken. Everyone's been nice though. So far we have the Professor, a guy named Scott, who just asks for every single crack that gets thrown at him, we have Dr. Jean Grey, who's very nice, but has seriously odd taste in men, as she's fixing to commit matrimony with Scotty. There's Ororo, who is _so_ pretty it makes me want to hide in a sleeping bag and pretend I'm a slug. I can't catch many of the kids' names, there are so many of them. I knew there were probably others like me, but I never thought there were that many. The only kids whose names I've really caught are this Russian kid, Peter, and the first kid I met, John. The only reason they're sticking is because Peter is so tall that I don't have a face to put to his name because I can't quite see it. And John is a lot like me, he has an unnatural love of greasy food and an attitude that is probably out of place at an East Coast prep school. I'm going back to the supermarket today to get everyone something to eat. I already have my own stash in my room if my plan to feed the children is thwarted, so I won't waste away until I can see you again.

Love, 

Evelyn

* * *

"Are you sure you don't have any classes today?" asked Evelyn. "Because if you do and I get in trouble or get kicked out, you are so dead."

"Evelyn, it's Saturday," said John. Evelyn blinked.

"Didn't know that. Okay, John, ready?"

"Yeah."

"Dunk, you good back there?" The only answer she got from the dog was a sleepy wheezing noise. She pulled away from the mansion, rolling down the window as she lit up.

"So, do you guys learn a normal high school curriculum or what?" she asked John. Evelyn still wasn't quite clear on what they learned. Her high school didn't have nice, attractive people teaching, much less nice, attractive mutants teaching who could probably kill you just as soon look at you.

"I think so, math, physics, english, that kind of stuff. The part about power and responsibility is getting repetitive." John's voice betrayed a little more resentment than he would have wished. Evelyn could sense the impending rant coming her way if she didn't change the subject. 

"Really? We had religious education at mine. And by that I mean the 'Catholicism-is-the-only-way-and-everyone-else-is-a-heretic' kind." Evelyn let the smoke curl out of her mouth while she chuckled at what the nuns would say if they could see her now.

"Catholic school? You?" said John disbelievingly, suddenly stricken with the image of a younger Evelyn in a tiny skirt.

"Rule of thumb, sweetie. Catholic school girls either grow up really nice, or they go bad. It depends on how well you respond to ten Hail Marys for punishment and terrible uniforms. I can still say an Our Father, and sometimes I cross myself out of habit, but other than that, I think I fall into the 'bad' category." She pulled into a parking spot in front of the supermarket.

"Alright, follow my lead."

* * *

Two minutes into the shopping trip, John's arms were full of more good, fattening food than he knew what to do with. Once Evelyn got to the chips and soda aisle, he gave up and got a cart.

"Um, Evelyn?" he asked. "How are you going to pay for all this?"

"Simple," she said, tossing another bag of Fritos into the cart. "That Logan guy gave me a bunch of money, and I paid for my last motel room in dish-washing."

"You can do that?" asked John. He'd thought that the barter system was dead in America.

"You wouldn't believe what they let you do. One night they didn't have a lounge act in this place in Reno, and I had to sing 'Talk Dirty To Me' with an Elvis impersonator. Should we get some wings?" She gestured toward a pan of chicken wings behind the glass. John nodded.

"Elvis?" he asked dryly.

"Yeah, I've seen my fair share of wannabe-Kings. Will all that keep you crazy kids alive?"

"I think so, but I'll take the mini-cheesecake into the car in case I feel low on blood sugar." Evelyn smirked.

"You smartass. I should never have kids, I'd spoil them rotten." She sighed and loaded the groceries into the back seat, where Duncan was eyeing the chicken wings curiously. "Then again, it's not like I'll be having kids anytime soon. It's enough trouble taking care of myself, and James is almost helpless when it comes to cooking."

John could feel his heart drop into his stomach like a 16-ton weight. "Who's James?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"My...I'm not exactly sure. He is the only non-mutant guy I have ever known who hasn't treated me any different than he did before he knew. I guess that makes him a friend. Then again, he did give me Duncan and a place to stay for the night. He lives in Colorado, though. I guess that makes him pending long-distance boyfriend. I bought those postcards to write to him."

"Oh," said John quietly. _What's that noise?_ he thought bitterly to himself. _Oh yeah, that's what hopes being destroyed sounds like. A man can dream._ He sat back, discouraged until one part of what Evelyn had said registered.

_If this James lives in Colorado, then at least a man can try._ He smiled, chewing his cheesecake thoughtfully.

* * *

A/N: I promise I'll get to the movie-action soon! Just bear with me and leave some motivation!


	7. Aliases

A/N: *cringe* Sorry everyone. I would explain what I've been doing instead of writing, but it's a long story and involves lots of homemade jewelry and a business license. Mostly I was inspired to continue by the nachos at this one tavern that are to die for, but that's not important. So yeah. Anyway, what's important is I'm back and will be trying to be more consistent. Let's see, disclaimers. I don't own X-men or Fritos, but I enjoy them both. There we go.

Also, to everyone who asked for Nightcrawler: Don't worry! I love the bamfing wonder as well, and he will definitely be included.

* * *

"Alright, first order of business," said Evelyn briskly. "Frito pie. You look like you need some protein. Get the Fritos and chili and cheese."

"What's Frito pie?" asked John. He recognized the ingredients for mud pie in the groceries, ice cream and crumb crust, but that was it.

"Heat up the chili and you'll see." Evelyn continued bustling around the kitchen, putting away ice cream and frozen burritos until someone cleared their throat loudly from the doorway. Evelyn looked up and smiled wickedly.

"Scotty! We were just making some lunch. Are you a vegetarian, or is meat chili okay?" Evelyn ignored his disapproving glare that could be felt through the glasses and checked to see if the chili in the pot was ready.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Scott slowly.

"Frito pie," said John, grinning tentatively.

"Evelyn, I'm sure you realize that lunch is taken care of by the school, not to mention carefully planned for the children's nutritional needs." Scott crossed his arms and looked disdainfully at the steaming pot of chili and enormous bags of corn chips. Evelyn ignored him and started pouring the chili into the bag of Fritos. John watched, trying to gauge Scott's reaction. He wouldn't put it past him to kick Evelyn out for spite.

"Scotty, don't try to fool yourself," she said breezily. "I know perfectly well that no red-blooded man can live off this nutritionally-balanced, low-fat crap. I also am very aware that there is some rule against this. And I am, in fact, willingly breaking it. So if you want to turn me away just because I happen to be a vigilante cook, then you are risking the wrath of hungry kids." Evelyn smiled and pulled a chili-laden Frito out of the bag, examining it thoughtfully.

"Besides, these really need cheese. So if you'll excuse us." Scott scowled a final time and left, muttering something that sounded like 'she's almost as bad as Logan!' Evelyn smirked and flicked her hair behind her ears. "Now, you know how to make mud pie, right?"

* * *

_Dear James,_

Forget those crappy motivational speakers, love. Winning friends and influencing people is as easy as saying 'hey, who wants ice cream?' It's not making me popular with Scotty, but I think even the good Dr. Grey is coming around. This place is a trip though. There's this kid who can flip channels on the TV, which is hooked up to a DVD player and everything. It's on the news channel most of the time, but I'll work on that. Something happened today that reminded me of something I should have told you before I left. The Professor brought up a few slightly awkward queries having to do with things like reports of people fitting my description that might have warrants in five states for resisting arrest. So if anyone comes to you asking about Abby Laplante or Fiona Wallace, you don't know me.

Love, Evelyn

* * *

"Evelyn, we asked you a question," said the Professor calmly. Ororo and Jean looked at her expectantly.

"Fine, yes, those might be former aliases and I really didn't mean to give the cop an atomic wedgie, but..." Evelyn began, but Jean cut her off.

"We were talking about the museum trip, Evelyn," she said. "Will you help us?"

"Oh, that, yeah. Sorry, was just thinking about how much I miss Washington sometimes. Yeah, I can totally help ya out, but only if we can go out the night before."

"No one's stopping you, Evelyn," Ororo pointed out. Evelyn smiled.

"You misunderstand me. I said we, not I. So tomorrow night, you'd better be down in the entrance room-thingy and ready to go." Evelyn got up to saunter back to her room. Jean looked slightly taken aback, the Professor looked vaguely amused, and a hint of a smile started on Ororo's face. She hadn't gone out in a long time, what with the school and all. She could barely remember what a martini tasted like. And she'd always secretly wondered what Jean's drink was.

* * *

Evelyn sat in her room, ridiculously pleased with herself. Jean seemed like a potential stick in the mud, but Evelyn had faith in her to change, at least a little. _After all,_ she reasoned to herself,_ enough time around Scotty will suck the energy out of anyone._ A little quality time is all she needed.

Ororo, however, was a different story. Evelyn saw that gleam in her eye, and something told her that Ororo was a better partier than anyone here would suspect. She was anxious to see what Ororo had in store, and idly wondered what drinking games she knew.

* * *

"You're going to the museum with us?" asked a dark-haired girl with a charming Southern drawl. _Marie,_ Evelyn remembered. "Like a teacher?"

"Sort of. I've wondered what I could teach, and the only things I know really are auto-mechanics, bartending, and Greek drama. I'm sure anything vaguely alcoholic is a bad influence on you all, and the other options would mean actually talking to Scotty more than I have to. Or working steady, God forbid," mused Evelyn. She was sitting around with John and some of his friends. She could hardly believe the powers some of them had.

"Scotty?" asked the boy next to Marie confusedly. _Bobby,_ Evelyn reminded herself. "Do you mean Cyclops?"

"Cyclops? Like Polyphemos?" _What in the Sam Hill is he talking about?_ she wondered. John picked up on her confusion.

"He's talking about his code-name. Like mine's Pyro. Marie is Rogue. And Bobby's Iceman," he explained. Evelyn looked around, before settling her gaze on Bobby and chuckling. Bobby looked a little put out.

"What?" Evelyn started laughing harder.

"It's just-"

"What?" asked Marie, also confused but somewhat curious.

"Um, Bobby? Did you know that you named yourself after a jockey. Y'know, short guy who races horses?"

"I _what?_"

"Iceman rode Man O' War in loads of races, back in the thirties." Marie giggled, and John looked smug.

"Back in the thirties..." repeated Bobby. "Then why do you know about him?"

"Well, for one thing he was very famous in his day. And let's just say that Grampy Morrison was a friend to the racetrack tip sheet and lucky charms of all kinds." It was true, her paternal grandfather had mumbled odds from long-run races in his sleep.

"I knew it sounded familiar!" said Rogue triumphantly.


End file.
